The Body in the Tomb
by FranklyJoyous
Summary: So not only was I trapped in a tomb as the sun was slowly setting, in a country I had just arrived in the week previous, but now I was bleeding profusely with my only companion, a dead man who, from the damage done to his right side, had led a spectacularly dubious and dangerous life, and ultimately death.
1. Chapter 1

The Body in the Tomb

I was trapped in a tomb once. Sounds much more dramatic and terrifying than the actual experience was, but it's a fitting way to begin this story. You see, while working for my PhD in Forensic Pathology I took some classes in Forensic Anthropology. Those classes included field work which meant shipping me out to a distant desert to handle ancient bones. It was fascinating... and hot, very hot. This part of my life, though small and insignificant to most, has been what I considered the most exciting part of my life thus far. I am also quite proud that Sherlock Holmes has never deduced this little detail. In fact, he has even gotten certain finer points blatantly wrong. Another point of pride for me.

On the day he and I met, he swept into the lab in all his self important glory, flipping about his coat and curls to ensure all focus was on him. His eyes took one swipe at me as Dr Stamford attempted to introduce me. I say attempted because he only got as far as 鉄herlock this is-before being summarily cut off.

"Doctor Molly Hooper, newest resident in the Pathology department. Graduated fourth in her class, not out of lacking intelligence, but out of lacking nerve. Her blatant inability to hold a scalpel, as evidenced by the cut across her inside palm, should have been a sign that she may not be ready for the big leagues yet, Mike. But I suppose she's mostly harmless, dresses like a matronly school girl, obvious sign of a raging inferiority complex, she'll listen to everything you say, and do everything you want, so in that regard she is an ideal employee if you want the paperwork finished. The emphasis on the final syllable echoed across the lab. 的f you'll be needing me, I'll be in the morgue."

"Yes, he's always like that"

That was the first time I heard Mike solemnly utter those words, but it most certainly was not the last. It took me two hours to get over the shock of being reduced to my most basic flaws, but after those two hours I realized his one mistake. Sherlock did eventually work with me, though he refused to allow me to use a scalpel in his presence for the first two months. I like to think that what he saw when I finally performed an autopsy in front of him was what started him down the road of trust we have developed since.

But back on point, that very first day, Sherlock Holmes was wrong. You see the cut across my hand was not nerves induced mishandling of a scalpel, but in fact nerves induced grappling onto the nearest surface. Said surface happened to be a sarcophagus holding a thirteen hundred year old Umayyad leader whose blade was still as sharp as the day it was hammered out. So not only was I trapped in a tomb as the sun was slowly setting, in a country I had just arrived in the week previous, but now I was bleeding profusely with my only companion, a dead man who, from the damage done to his right side, had led a spectacularly dubious and dangerous life, and ultimately death.

It was with those memories in mind, I climbed the stairway to 221B Baker Street.

"Ah Molly, have you brought me the gallbladder I requested?Sherlock asked before I even reached the door. His back was turned toward me, but it didn't surprise me anymore he knew who walked in.

"Ehm, no, not quite. But I do have something else for you."

"And what pray tell may that be?"

"A body's been found in a tomb."


	2. Chapter 2

"The Science of Deduction"

The Varying Effects of Ancient to Modern Near Eastern Blades on Human Tissue: Living and Deceased

Though seemingly identical one can differentiate the cut from an ancient, specifically a double edged short sword, popular in the early 8th Century before the adaptation of damascened steel long swords during what is considered in Europe to be the period of the first Crusade. The cut from this short sword can be easily differentiated from modern tools such as surgical grade steel in only certain types of instances...

* * *

"Thank you Molly for that enlightening and dramatic entrance, but I have been lead to believe that bodies are typical inside tombs."

"No, no, ehm, you see, it was my professor, he was found inside the tomb. Murdered, well, probably. No proof yet, but I'm sure... he was a much better climber than I ever was" Molly retorted, rambling some before coming to an awkward finish.

"So you think this professor of yours was killed, but you can't prove it, because he can climb things better than you?" Sherlock's obvious dismissal was forthcoming and Molly was desperate for the man's help.

"He was discovered lying inside a sarcophagus suffering from the effects of dehydration. The only injury on his body was an antemortem cut running across the bottom of his left foot. There was no weapon found nearby to have caused this cut, so the authorities have dismissed it as irrelevant. When I read through the report filed, which I apologize, but I may have lied to your brother to obtain it, there were no other bodies inside the tomb. Which is impossible. I know for a fact that tomb held a well preserved thirteen hundred year old corpse , I did the carbon dating of it myself. Also, the cut on his foot is from the same short sword that gave me this." After spilling her information as quickly as possible she held her hand palm up in front of the taller mans face.

Sherlock grabbed the wrist of the hand that was nearly swatting the tip of his nose, and moved it just a hair to the left. "You lied to my brother, and he believed you?"

"Ehm, yeah..."

"You should have said so from the beginning" he walked to the door and grabbed his coat and scarf, twisting the garment around his neck. "Now where is this tomb of yours, we have a murder to solve!"

"You're not going to need that coat..."

* * *

Less than twenty-four hours later Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper were being driven through flat desert in an old Toyota pick-up truck that had definitely seen better days. The two Brits and their driver were squished together in the front seat with Molly riding in the middle, torn between throwing her legs over Sherlock's lap or being hit in the knee as the driver shifted gears, again. Arabic pop music blaring on the radio the entire time. When they finally arrived at the University's base camp Molly's knees were bruised and Sherlock was ready to pull the speakers from the truck doors.

"Doctor Hooper! Mr Holmes! Welcome to camp! We're a bit of a skeleton crew, if you'll pardon my pun, but I'll gather the troops for a proper introduction" a very boisterous Aussie greeted the pair as soon as they fell out of the still running pick-up.

Molly gave a grimacing smile and followed the loud man, who could only be Dr Hamlin O'Neil, who Molly had e-mailed, gaining permission to come visit the site. Dr O'Neil had become the de-facto director after Dr David Smith-Fox met his untimely end in a tomb just two weeks earlier. Control should have then passed to Dr Smith-Fox's second, or even third in command, but both were too shaken by the loss and had retreated to the nearest city to grieve and organize the man's final requests and estate.

The main room of base camp held three large tables covered in either computer equipment, papers and books, or ancient bits and bobs. No one was working at the tables at the moment, instead, a half dozen twenty-somethings were sitting on the floor balancing a hummus carton, fresh pita, and a small greasy bag of felafel.

"Mr Holmes, Dr Hooper, this is the team! I am of course Dr Harmin O'Neil, you can just call me Harm, head geologist and current fill-in director. Going clockwise are our three Senior Archaeology students, Merrel Tamstra, Anthony Badu, and Mike Anderson." Sherlock shuddered at the mention of another Anderson. "The young man with hummus on his nose is my personal graduate assistant James Galabrecht. He's studying Geomorphology in the Near East, specifically areas with a high concentration of Basalt and other volcanic rock. Next is him is Karen Pierce, Visual Anthropologist, near perfect recall. Has the entire site memorized so you will never get lost if you have her with you. But just a warning, make sure you don't lose her, she tends to wander without telling anyone. Finally, there's Dr Anne Cooper, she is our resident Forensic Anthropologist. Team" he said, now addressing the circle on the floor, "this is Doctor Molly Hooper, a graduate of our 2002 Field Season, and this is Mr Sherlock Holmes, whom some of you may have heard" he said with a cheery chuckle. "Anything either of you would like to say to the team?"

"Ah, yes, thank you Dr O'Neil" Sherlock stepped forward and clasped his hands behind his back, looking down at the group. "I just wanted to say, that as of this moment, you are all suspects in a murder investigation." silence "thank you."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

I remember the sun was setting and I still hadn't figured out a way to get out of this blasted and now quite bloody tomb. Leaning against one of the walls seemed to be the best way to gather my bearings and think logically. The most important thing I had to do was find a way to wrap my hand and cut off the blood drip. The options I had on hand, or more acurately, soon to be on hand, were my own clothing, a grungy tee and dirt covered denim trousers, or the grave clothes the poor sod in the sarcophagus was wrapped in. Clearly that option was out. I decided that I would cut a strip of material from the bottom of my shirt. Funny enough, I intended to use the very weapon that caused my gushing injury to slice open my shirt. Gently using the tip of the sword to tear the hem I then proceeded to pull the cotton until it was a swatch large enough to wrap around my palm a few times, then tuck into itself. With that taken care of, it is time to get out of this tomb. I walked over to where I had slid in.

Hmmmm, maybe this is where I should describe the actual layout of this tomb, because if you're thinking winding secret passages inside a pyramid, you're wrong. If you're thinking hole cut in a hillside with a rock in front, you're wrong. If you're thinking quaint little building sitting amidst other graves, you're wrong. This little tomb could easily be confused with a water resevoir, giant pit in the ground with arches at ground level that held up the ground from collapsing onto the deceased. There were various shelves and walls inside so it was more intricate that a grave, the wall I had been leaning against that now had my bloody handprint even had some serious inscriptions on it. I was never too successful with languages so I couldn't be arsed to tell you what it said. Anyways, the ground level dirt had all been dug away so I could see the sky above me. This actually had been why I was in trouble to begin with. Just because you can see the bottom doesn't mean you can climb in and out with ease kiddies.

On the Southern wall there was evidence of what may have possibly once been stairs (I deal with the bodies, not architecture). That's where I slid, literally, into this ancient little pit. I couldn't help myself, I saw the body and was drawn like a maggot to a corpse ("don't make jokes, Molly" twat). The identation of where the stairs once were looked deceptively climbable. I tried to remember any rock climbing knowledge as I grabbed onto basalt chunks that were sticking out of the dirt and broken interior wall. About a quarter of the way up I lost my footing and ended up flat on my back. That feeling of utter ineptitude was only matched once I met Sherlock.

* * *

"You can't just tell students they're murder suspects Sherlock!"

"Why not, they are!" He gave a scoffing reply. We were walking through the ancient city relying on my decade old memory since the team now refused to assist us for fear of being arrested for murder by a prick wearing a suit in the desert.


End file.
